


Still

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: Post Merchants of Menace.
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Still

He could still feel the sting from the tip of the knife that was pressed against his neck less than half an hour ago. Despite the full backup of officers waiting outside the warehouse as he encroached on the “murderabilia” collectors, he could not help but feel a bit uneasy as he ascended those stairs. Of course it wouldn’t be a normal day at work if he wasn’t throwing himself in front of a bullet, a knife, a moving vehicle, it came so naturally after all these years. He wasn’t sure which was more disturbing, the collectors or his ability to pass as one of them. 

He tried to ignore it, the weird stinging on his skin, avoid looking at it in the mirror in the bathroom, just shake it off and focus on the evidence; the interrogation of Jacob Warren that awaited him. There was just one small problem. 

She approached him with a case file tucked under her arm, looking at her phone, tucking it into her back pocket as she reached him. 

“Hodges says the leather jacket is a fake knock off,” she explains to him “I think these guys are a bit less enthusiastic about their collections than they say.”

“Yeah,” he says only half listening as he peeks through the two way glass at Jacob Warren who is waiting alone yet he can’t bring himself to enter the room just yet. 

She notices his hesitation, peering at him with a tilt of her head. Squinting yields her the reason for his demeanor right now; a red scratch down the side of his neck. Her heart sinks into her stomach when she sees it. 

“What is that?” she demands, reaching for his chin and turning his head towards her, leaning forward to reach his height. 

“Nothing,” he denies any wrongdoing, trying to twist away from her grip but she’s stronger. No surprise. 

She sees the scratch, so red and raw looking, then her eyes land on Jacob in interrogation, then back to Nick who is silent, almost feeling like he did something wrong as she scrutinizes the situation. Horror falls across her gaze when she connects the dots, realization hitting her like bricks. 

“He did this,” she breathes, anger and fury rising up in her chest, her cheeks flushing with that familiar red when she’s upset. 

Nick fears repercussions as her anger builds, bubbling beneath her small frame. Her bottom lip trembles as she tries to contain these emotions. Tactical error. 

“I’m going in,” she announces fiercely, turning on her heel and marching towards the room. 

As he reaches out to stop her, a strangled cry in protest escapes him but he knows it’s useless. She will never back down. 

All he can do is watch from the mirrored glass, taking pity on the man in the metal chair for what is about to befall him. 

The calmness in which she approaches Jacob in the room is eerie. The type of calm where the anger is too strong to be seen or heard, but she feels it coursing through her body as she sits across from him. She presses him for information, accosts him for his fake memorabilia, wonders why he insists upon being part of this side show. 

“Kindred souls find each other,” Jacob sneers at her. 

She doesn’t understand and that frustrates her. How can anyone feel connected to a killer just by wearing their clothes or exchanging their tools of the trade? Perhaps it’s because she is on the other side of the veil where she sees the pain these people cause. She squints at him, still struggling to comprehend, to make some sense of this man and his intentions. Where does he get off talking about souls when he seems to have none?

“You’re just a wannabe,” she fights him “and you tampered with a crime scene, you’re looking at obstruction, lets see how your cell mates like your act.”

She rises from her seat and instructs the officer to cuff him. 

“And what of your soul?” Jacob launches one last grenade at her. 

“What about it?” she snaps. 

“What feeds your soul?” Jacob continues his metaphorical speech “there has to be something? Is it death? You see it everyday. You’re no better than me.”

His wicked grin, dark eyes and smug demeanor make her want to reach across the table and rip out his heart. The nerve. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she quips “you’ll have plenty of time to dissect your feelings in solitary.” 

With that last insult, one that barely escapes her shaking body, she exits the room, pulling the door shut harder than she meant to. She finds a liminal corner to lean against and catch her breath, heart beating faster, fearing it would beat right out of her chest if she let it. She leans her head back against the wall, struggling to make sense of what she just endured. In her moment of weakness, she forgot about Nick. Where would he have run off too? 

She doesn’t have time to look or even make a call for him when she’s startled by the appearance of Russell at her side, explaining to her of another lead they need to follow up with. She nods, regaining control, throat dry as she agrees to help him, stealing one last glance back at the empty hallway for Nick, expecting him to be there, coming around the corner, her saving grace, her heart breaking when all she sees is emptiness, the same darkness that consumes her soul, a crushing fact that overwhelms her when she thinks of Jacob’s terrifying words. He is right. They are more alike than she wants to admit. 

Drained. When the case is finally wrapped up, she is numb. Being run around place to place, emotion to emotion is exhausting. She drags herself to his place, to safety. When she slips into the dark foyer, pushing the heavier than usual front door shut behind her, using all of her weight to secure it, she dumps her belongings onto the floor, careless. 

When she glances around the empty kitchen space, her heart breaks because she still doesn’t see him. She goes to the counter and braces her hands on the marble, staring at the floor, feeling a sickness wash over her. The sob that escapes her meets his soft “Hey” and she jumps, away from the counter, startled, seeing him shuffle over from the living room. Her watery eyes meet his clear ones. She doesn’t know what to say or do. She can’t wrap her head around what she’s feeling, all she knows is, she hates the heaviness in her heart. 

“Case closed?” he presses her for confirmation. 

“Yeah,” she sniffles “no killers rising from the dead this time.” 

She tries to play this light but she cringes at her own words. 

“And Jacob?” he asks now to her discontent. 

“Felony,” she mutters, “tampering with evidence, couple years in county will chill him out.” 

Nick nods, tilting his head, searching for a read on her. 

“You left,” she complains of his disappearance earlier. 

“Henry had some evidence for me,” he explains with a shrug “and by the time I checked back in with Russell, you guys had everything wrapped up so I came here.” 

She nods and walks towards him, peering at the mark on his neck, crossing her arms, holding herself because she doesn’t know if he will. 

“Why did you do it?” she sniffles of his offer to go undercover in the first place. 

“It’s the job,” he reminds her and she looks down at the floor, stifling her tears but failing. 

“It’s just a scratch,” he deflects her concern, like a bad pass on the field. 

“Not to me,” she stands her ground. 

“We got the guy didn’t we?” he reminds her. 

How long were they going to do this dance? She could keep the pace but not the rhythm. 

“Did you kill him?” he asks now, mocking her. 

“No,” she scoffs, “didn’t you watch?”

“Henry called,” he reminds her and she realizes he didn’t see or hear a word of what was spoken to her in that tense room. 

“Right,” she says, swaying awkwardly on her toes. 

He steps closer to her, sensing her resolve weakening. He holds his arms out apologetically, wearing a meek smile, wanting to flash her that cheesy one she loves but hesitates. She sways with her arms crossed still, breaking with each second she stands here, hating what happened to him but knowing she can’t change it. 

She’s done. She shuffles over to him and accepts his awaiting arms, pausing to reach up with a shaky hand and touch the side of his neck, grazing her fingers over the red skin. 

“It’s fine, I promise,” he assures her softly, taking hold of her outstretched hand, kissing her wrist, then her fingers. 

The pain that’s been crushing her heart since the interrogation is vanishing, as she knew it would. He rests one hand to her lower back, fingers pressing in, enticing her to stay close to him. She does, to his relief. Sensing calmness to her now, he takes her upstairs to forget, to hide, to savor what they have. 

She watches him closely as he settles beside her under the covers but senses no unresolved tension. She grazes her fingers against his neck again and asks “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” he assures her again. 

She keeps brushing the jagged line against his rough skin, soothing herself and him at the same time. Enthralled with her softness in this moment, he slides his arms around her, enveloping her entire body, wrapping her in his warmth and his strength, settling her against him, what he’s wanted since they stood in the hallway at the lab all those hours ago. 

“Do you think kindred souls find each other?” she asks in the darkness, her head finding his shoulder and resting there, savoring his warm skin on hers. 

“I guess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head “why?”

She shrugs and her hair tickles his chin “Just wondering” she adds but he knows there is more to it.

“He said that to you?” Nick questions her of her interrogation with Jacob. 

This time she nods against his chest and he squeezes his arms around her tighter. 

“Don’t listen to him,” he begs “he’s crazy.” 

“Not really,” she says lifting her head from his chest, reaching up and grazing his cheek with the back of her hand “he saw something in both of us, you fit right in with those guys and so do I, because of what we’ve seen and how we connect because of it.”

“Yeah but there’s a difference,” Nick explains, pressing his fingers gently against her side, feeling her squirm at the contact. 

“We fight for each other,” he concludes, sweeping her hair out of her face, so he can see her worried gaze properly, soothing her with a delicate caress of her cheek with the back of his hand, brushing his thumb across the tiny freckles she has there. 

“Does it feed your soul?” she dares to ask him of the job, the pain, the misery that surrounds them daily. 

He shakes his head, telling her no, but also in disbelief over what pain this has caused her, of how she held onto it all day, carrying the weight on her heart, of how she lays here with him, fitting perfectly in his embrace, and his heart, pressing herself as close as she can to him. His finger slips under her chin as he tilts her head up to properly kiss her, then making sure she feels the words on her soft warm forehead when he presses his lips there and utters “You do.”


End file.
